


Always Come Running

by longlivejohnlock (Sherlockxxxx)



Series: but you came back to warn me [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual John Watson, Comeplay, Evil Mary Morstan, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jolto, M/M, Mild Language, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockxxxx/pseuds/longlivejohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after Sherlock commits suicide, John Watson is having a rough time trying to continue living. Now that the biggest part of his life is gone, he needs some encouragement from someone who used to be the love of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Come Running

**Author's Note:**

> [All Our Lives](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5798362) was never meant to have a sequel, but alas... here it is. Both of these works can be read as stand-alone fics. 
> 
> find me on tumblr @ [longlivejohnlock](http://longlivejohnlock.tumblr.com)

Waking up four months after Sherlock’s suicide was one of the worst things John ever had to do. Most would assume it would be the day after, or maybe the day of the funeral. But during those days, it still hardly felt real. It still felt like the detective -- his detective -- would walk through the door and tell John they had a case. John only started to let go of that hopeful thought after a few months had gone by, and he found that he was still all alone. 

Time was passing so slowly but so quickly at the same time, and somehow everything was a blur. If you asked him what he had done last week, he couldn’t tell you. Life was going at the speed of sound, passing him by, and he couldn’t find the energy to really even care. As far as he was concerned, he died with Sherlock that day. It had changed him on a molecular level. Even if he found a way to carry on, he wouldn’t be the same person he had been when Sherlock was still alive. 

He was no longer staying at Baker Street. He missed it with every fibre of his being, but it had been too hard to stay. There were times he’d awaken in the middle of the night, convinced he had heard Sherlock’s violin playing. And not a classical song, but a song he had composed after one of their cases. One of their cases where their feelings had almost been laid bare. Other times, he could swear that some of Sherlock’s things had gone missing, only to return several days later. He was going crazy with sorrow. 

Mycroft was kind enough to find him an affordable flat near the clinic job he had lined up for next week. Seeing as how he didn’t work very often while out solving crimes with Sherlock, and few people actually paid them for their consulting services, John didn’t exactly have much money in his savings. He had some, certainly, but not nearly enough to continue coasting. 

He had found a good mate in Greg Lestrade, but it wasn’t the same. There was always a piece missing, and it always went unspoken. Mycroft periodically checked on him, no doubt because it was something Sherlock had requested before he died. Guilt nearly drowned him when he thought about Mrs. Hudson; after he moved out, he hadn’t gone back since. He should really make a point to visit her soon. 

John couldn’t believe that it had been so long since that fateful day with James. It was the day James had convinced him to live, and it was that very same day he ran into Mike Stamford in the park. The day everything changed. The day he met Sherlock. 

He never thought he would find someone who made him so infuriated and so happy at the exact same time, and he never thought he could feel so alive. Truth be told, from the moment he met Sherlock Holmes, he was in over his head. He was infatuated with everything the man was, with everything he could do. It killed him every single day to know he couldn’t save Sherlock in the same way that Sherlock had saved John. Ultimately, he knew Moriarty was the one responsible -- he just had to be. But he also wondered if there was a part of Sherlock that truly had wanted to die. That believed the world was better off without him. 

A knock on John’s door snapped him out of his thoughts and he stumbled to the door. He was a little bit hungover -- he couldn’t deny that his drinking had flared up again despite the promises made to James. He was ashamed but grief had gotten the best of him. It made the shame a little bit easier to ignore. John pulled the door open, only to find Mycroft Holmes. 

“Good evening, Dr. Watson.”

“Mycroft,” John nodded towards him.

It was always unexpected when Mycroft dropped by, there was never any schedule he committed to. Despite the unpredictability, their visits were routine and it was something they pretended was completely normal, even though they know it certainly isn’t. They just go through the motions. 

“How are … things?” he asked, surveying John’s demeanor. 

“Oh, the usual.”

“So, unwashed clothing and stale liquor?”

“Pretty much,” John shrugged. 

Mycroft played with the handle of his antique umbrella. It seemed as though he was trying to decide what he wanted to say, which was actually fairly unusual for him; he was normally quite quick-witted and clever, and if he came off as being blunt and unnecessarily cruel, well, it never mattered much to Mycroft. 

“It’s time to move on, John.”

John instinctively crossed his arms and widened his stance, looking like he was ready to attack. He narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. 

“Sorry?”

“it’s been long enough. You need to get on with your life.”

“You’re aware that you’re talking about your brother, yes? And that it’s only been four months?”

“I’m well aware, thank you,” Mycroft snapped. “He’s gone, John. Accept it. He would want you to be among the living, not the dead.”

“You have no idea,” John spat.

Mycroft smiled a small smile and gazed down at the floor.

“Do you really think I don’t know of the mutual unspoken affection you two had for each other? Honestly, John, do you think I’m some kind of fool?” 

John’s posture softened, his shoulders drooping, and his head hanging. Of course Mycroft knew. Everybody probably did -- they made enough jokes at their expense. John quietly turned away from Mycroft and pinched the bridge of his nose, grief washing away any irritation Mycroft had brought to his door. 

“Yes. Well. Do think about what I said.”

John watched from the corner of his eye as Mycroft walked away, swinging his umbrella by this side. He pushed the door closed and leant against it, sighing deeply. He was just so, so tired. There was no other way to describe it. His heart hurt and his brain was tired and his body had no strength left. 

He bent his knees slightly and rested his hands on top as a loud, heaving sob filled the room. Several more sobs escaped from his mouth, his lungs struggling to take in a proper amount of oxygen. 

Deep down, John knew Mycroft maybe had a point. He was currently nothing but a shell of a human being and he couldn’t let that continue -- if not for himself, then for Sherlock. But the thought of moving on from Sherlock, of living without Sherlock… it caused him enormous amounts of pain just thinking about it. 

He shook his head and tried to compose himself, taking deep breaths. A few days ago, Lestrade had brought over a box of some of Sherlock’s things, a DVD included among them. It was a birthday message from Sherlock before… well. Before. Before the world went to hell. John had watched the video the day Lestrade brought it. In fact, he watched it on repeat for a solid twenty four hours while drinking himself silly. This time, he wasn’t going to do that. He took another deep breath and put the disc into his laptop. 

Sherlock’s voice filled the air, almost echoing as if he were in the flat with John, reciting the words. He closed his eyes only to see flashes of his best friend, his whole entire world, crashing into the pavement. John’s eyes jerked open and he gasped for air.

He couldn’t do this anymore. This was killing him. It was killing him from the inside out.

John didn’t know what else to do but call the only other person he knew that could talk him down. Someone he knew would always come running if John needed him to. While he typed out his message, his gaze drifted to his bottle of scotch and his gut ached. All he wanted was a drink, but he miraculously resisted, pressing send instead and breathing a sigh of relief. He curled up on his sofa and pulled a quilt over himself, trying to get some rest. 

Two hours had gone by when he woke up to a loud banging on his door. 

John threw the quilt off and rushed to the open the door, shivering as the air hit his skin. Almost immediately after pulling the door open, his body relaxed like it hadn’t done in months. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” John managed to smile. “James.”

“John.” 

John practically fell into his old commander’s arms, needing to feel physically and emotionally close to someone again. It felt amazing breathing James in again. 

“Thank you for coming.”

James wrapped his arms around John, just under his armpits, holding him up. “Always, John,” he whispered. “Let’s get inside, yes? Do you have any tea?”

Nodding, John untangled his body from James and lead him to his kitchen. It was small but it functioned the way a kitchen should and he had everything he needed; although he had gotten pretty used to weird science experiments in the fridge with Sherlock. It was still odd to open the refrigerator in this flat and see it almost empty -- no thumbs, no severed heads, nothing. 

He was about to pull his rather pathetic tea collection from the cupboard when James quietly interrupted his small trip down memory lane. 

“Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

“But you’re my guest! Mrs. Hudson would have my head if I let you do it.”

“I’m a friend that’s here to help you,” James smiled. “Go. Sit.”

John nodded once, stiffly, and sat down at the tiny table he tried to pass off as a dinner table. It was barely big enough for two. Luckily, the only time he’s ever really used it is when people check up on him. If several people came at once, there’d be a disturbing lack of space. Moments later, James set down two burning hot mugs of peppermint tea and sat across from John -- although the table was so small, it was more like beside him.

“Peppermint is still your favourite.”

“It’s calming.”

John smiled, having lost track of all the times they’ve had this exact same conversation. He always kept peppermint tea on hand but the only time he ever actually drank it was with James. For some reason, it was something they had always done. It was like their own private joke except it wasn’t all that funny. John cherished the familiarity, but he also cherished the fact that it was different from his regular routine. There was also the added bonus of it not having any connection whatsoever to Sherlock, and probably wouldn’t trigger any unwanted memories or feelings.

They sipped their tea in silence. Somehow, their silences always felt comfortable. There was never any awkwardness to it. James had an uncanny talent to make John feel relaxed and at peace. He had no idea how he did it, but he did. And John was enjoying the break. 

It was James who decided to break the silence between them. 

“I’m deeply sorry about Sherlock,” he said softly. “I know it can’t be easy.”

“We lost men in Afghanistan all the time. It’s the way the world works, isn’t it?”

“Not at all, John. When you join the army, you anticipate casualties. It’s expected. There’s no way around it. However, it’s very different losing someone when you’re back in civilization. It’s very different losing someone who is your best friend.”

“But it’s the same in the end,” John argued. “You still lose people. Why is this so bloody different?”

John pounded his fist on the table and James didn’t even flinch. 

“Because you loved him, John.”

“No, I --, that’s not --”

“Yes. You did. Anyone who followed your adventures knew it. Why you try so damn hard to deny it is beyond me, though.”

John shrugged and finished what was left of his tea. He’d always had a bit of a complex talking about his bisexuality. Not because he thought it was wrong -- he knew it wasn’t -- but because he saw the negative impact it had on Harry’s life. She drank until it ruined her marriage, she was relentlessly bullied growing up, even by their parents. He had no desire to live through that kind of chaos even if it would free him from the chains that bound him.

“I just want to move on from this, James. From everything. I need to. It hurts too much, all the time. But I don’t know how. I hardly remember what life was like before him. He… he changed everything for me.”

“What makes you think I have any experience in knowing how to move on? I permanently ran and hid from my problems.”

John signed. 

“I don’t know how to keep swimming when I’m so tired.”

“What?” James asked, confused.

“Have you ever gone swimming? Properly? With laps and everything? It’s like I’m swimming and swimming but I’m getting so tired. And what happens when you stop?”

“You drown.”

“Exactly,” John nodded. “You drown. I’m starting to lay my arms down to rest and the water is dragging me down and my head is below water and it’s muffling everything around me and I don’t know how to stay afloat anymore.”

“Alright. But you know what, John? You’re forgetting one very important thing.”

“What’s that?”

James reached across the table and covered John’s hands with his own.

“You can get out of the fucking pool. Plus, there are lifeguards. You don’t have to get out alone. That’s the point.”

“I… well. I never thought of it quite that way before,” he conceded. 

John smiled at James. It was a small, lifeless smile, but it was as real as it could be right now. It was always real with James. No matter how much time went by, it was always as if nothing changed between them. He was glad he and James could still be friends. Or whatever it was that they were. 

James smiled back and patted John’s hands before standing up and moving the dishes to the sink. He turned around and found himself face to face with John. Quietly, John put his hands on James’ waist, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“John…” he started, clearing his throat. “I… I’m not sure this is the best idea.”

“Please,” John whispered, his voice sounding strangled. “I need this. I need you.”

John gently tugged James forward, giving him more than enough time to decline his advances. He felt James’ hands on his hips and he all but melted. James spun them around and nudged John against the countertop, then lifted him atop of it. Instinctively, John wrapped his legs around James’ hips, pulling him closer. 

Both of them moved their heads closer, their lips finally colliding, soft and desperate. The air they shared was warm and thick with need. 

John whimpered and nibbled lovingly on James’ bottom lip, savouring the taste. He tasted like mint tea and chocolate biscuits -- somehow it was incredibly erotic. Their hearts were beating like drums, so loudly they could hear each other's heartbeat. This was everything he didn’t know that he needed. 

Their kisses became more frantic and breathy, years worth of yearning bubbling to the surface and taking over their bodies. Not just a raw lust for James that had never truly gone away, but also all of the feelings he had for Sherlock. All the grief, the pain, anger, even all of the affection he felt for both of these extraordinary men were being let out in one fell swoop. 

He knew when tomorrow morning came, there was a slight chance he’d regret whatever was about to happen. But he wasn’t sure he cared enough to stop. As regretful as he may feel, he suspected this time with James would also be helpful in his quest to carry on with his life. Or at least, he hoped it would.

His thoughts faded as James’ lips travelled across John’s jaw and down the side of his neck, biting every so often. Never hard enough for it to leave a mark, just hard enough so that John moaned at the feeling of James’ teeth on his skin. Just enough to make John claw at James’ back, wanting more. It was a weakness of his that James knew all too well.

John grabbed a fistful of James’ shirt and yanked it over his head, dropping it onto the floor. He smoothed his hands over James’ bare chest as James tore John’s jumper off and slid his hands down, down, down to John’s belt. Skillfully, and hastily, James undid the buckle and unzipped John’s jeans, growling as he did so.

“Take off your trousers,” James grunted. 

John shimmied out of his jeans and pants, kicking them off of his legs. The countertop was cool against his skin and he shivered against James. Quickly, he found the waistband of James’ trousers and pushed them down as far as he could in the position he was in, which was about mid-thigh. 

Both of them were naked and rock hard, breathing heavily, and running their hands all over each other, making notes of all of the muscles and freckles and the smoothness of skin. John used his legs to pull himself closer to James, their bodies as close as possible. Their cocks brushed against each other and John gasped, closing his eyes, while James sighed, blissful and breathy. It was near impossible for John to focus on anything except the burning he felt in the pit of his stomach. 

“H-How long has it been since you’ve been with another man?” James murmured. 

“Since you,” John whispered, suddenly feeling a little bit shy.

James groaned and kissed John’s neck again, sucking the skin with care.

“Mmm,” John moaned.

John started rocking against James, their leaking cocks rubbing together. He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a travel sized bottle of lube and popped it open. John squeezed a generous amount into the palm of his hand and reached between himself and James, slathering both of their cocks with the sticky liquid. 

God, he damn near lost his breath when his fingers touched James’ erection. James gripped John’s thighs, sure to leave finger shaped bruises, while John wrapped his hand firmly around both of their cocks, slowly stroking them both. Together, they pumped and rocked their hips. John moved his hand slowly, in perfect timing with their thrusts, while James nibbled on his earlobe. 

“Where do you want me, John?” he whispered in John’s ear.

Releasing their cocks, John took one of James’ hands, rubbing lube over his fingers, and pushed James’ hand down to his arse. Their eyes connected and John nodded his consent, grinning. He scooted closer to the edge of the countertop to give James better, easier access.

“Please, James,” he panted.

Wasting no time, James slowly, carefully began working John open with one finger, eventually adding another and continuing to finger him. John’s head was thrown back as he mindlessly stroked his cock with one hand, the other gripped James’ forearm. He could feel the muscles in James’ forearm as his fingers scissored inside of him. It was enough to drive him crazy with need, to feel those muscles move as James’ fingers were inside him. He felt like begging, like he needed James inside of him in order to bloody live.

When James felt John would be able to take him with little to no pain, he slicked up his cock and lined himself up with John’s hole, the head of his cock just resting outside of the relaxed muscle. 

Growling with impatience, John dug his heels into James’ arse cheeks, trying to get him to move. James smirked and he slowly, so very slowly, started pushing his hardened, thick cock into John’s slick, loosened hole. Inch by inch, he disappeared into John’s body, until he was finally fully seated. John felt so full, so complete. 

“God, yes,” John breathed out. 

Taking all the time in the world, or at least, that’s how it felt to John, James’ pulled out as slowly as he had pushed in. He was almost all the way out, only the tip of his cock remained inside John. John was biting his bottom lip, trying to stop himself from begging to be fucked. With no warning, James snapped his hips forward, pounding hard into John, just the way he liked it. James leaned forward and touched his forehead to John’s, both of them quivering and breathing heavily. 

“Good?”

“Amazing,” John answered.

James started thrusting into John at a steady pace while John was idly stroking his own cock. He never wanted this to stop. Just the thought of it ending made him wrap his arms around James’ shoulders and lift himself off of the countertop, so that the only thing holding him up was James. This had always been one of John’s favourite positions. He loved putting all of his trust in his commander’s strength. It was freeing. Intimate. 

He felt James’ hands move from his thighs to his arse, cupping his cheeks and holding him up as John started to bounce up and down on James’ dick. When his prostate was hit, he nearly screamed in surprise. And pleasure. John’s aching cock was rubbing against James’ smooth abdomen as he continued to ride him. The friction was more than enough for him. Every bit of strength he had was used to ride James’ cock as hard as he could. James managed to hit his prostate several more times. He felt all of his muscles tighten as he reached his orgasm. 

John shouted as he came, his release landing on both of their chests. He panted and groaned, his body spent, barely hanging onto James anymore.

James grinned, pleased, and set John back onto the countertop. All of his muscles were so tired that he couldn’t keep his legs wrapped around James’ hips anymore, so James lovingly propped them up on his shoulders, letting John’s body relax as much as possible. He gripped John around the thighs and started slamming into him, thrusting hard and fast, snapping his hips at a bruising, punishing pace. James fucked into him until he came hard, filling John with his sticky load. James grunted as he finished his climax, staying seated in John, keeping his come in place. 

John let out a quiet moan, feeling thoroughly ravaged, his nerves sensitive. A feeling of lightness crashed over him, a feeling of relaxation he hadn’t felt in months. Both men, absolutely spent, gasped as James pulled out. John smiled absentmindedly and cupped James’ face, pulling him in for a breathless, light kiss. 

Smirking, James dragged his index finger down to John’s arse and lightly circled his hole, gathering any come that had dripped out and softly pushed his finger in for a moment, plugging John with his come, keeping him full.

James leaned in and kissed John on the cheek. “You should get cleaned up.”

“Mmm, just me?” John grinned and eyed their chests, dried come on both of them. “I thought you’d like to shower with me? It’s a little tight, but we could make it work.”

John hopped off of the countertop and started collecting his clothes, walking towards the loo, pulling James along with him. 

After a luxuriously long shower that consisted of washing each other and a whole lot of kissing, John and James stepped out of the loo, fully clothed, hair still damp, and their cheeks were pink after being surrounded by shower team for so long. 

“I should really get going now,” James smiled sadly.

John’s face fell, his shoulders sagging. 

“But...so soon?”

“You know I care about you, John. Endlessly. But I can’t stay here. Even if it’s with you. You know that.”

“I...I do. I know. I just hoped…”

John cleared his throat and started to idly fold the quilt he had used for his nap earlier. He finished folding it and set it on the armrest of the sofa when James caught his wrist and tugged at John until he stopped what he was doing.

“Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t shut down now, John.”

“I’m fine.”

“John. I know you. You’re ready to put up your impenetrable walls and stare at your loaded gun again.”

John glared at him, knowing that James was right. He hated it, but he was right and John knew it. James was right. Again. This was the feeling he was trying so hard to let go of, the feeling of not being able to deal with life anymore. 

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I wish I could stay, John. But we were never meant to be together. It wasn’t meant to last with us, the timing has never been on our side.”

“Why not now? That was… amazing, wasn’t it?” John whispered, scared to know the answer.

“Oh, love. It was. Absolutely fantastic,” James smiled. “But you’re still grieving. You’re mourning. You were in love with someone, you still feel that. And you need to work through it. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

John nodded, understanding what he was saying. But it still hurt in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe -- ways he didn’t want to even try to describe. It was like losing another person he loved. 

“It’s time to put me in the past, John. For good.” 

“I’m not ready.”

“You are. I promise. And you know I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

The pain each man felt at this very moment was nothing but obvious. You could see it in their eyes, the pain of letting go of everything they had. Everything they could have had if the universe had allowed it. And that pain they each felt was one of many reasons why it had to be truly done. Why it had to be put in the past. 

“I’m going to miss you.”

“That defeats the purpose of letting go, John.”

“No, no it doesn’t. I can leave us in the past if that’s what I have to do. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget you.” 

With a small, sad smile, James stiffly turned away and walked to the door, John trailing behind him with his shoulders stoically back, ready to say goodbye. To somebody he had once loved. Again. He was getting really tired of saying goodbye to people he loved. John grabbed James’ hand and spun him around, their eyes meeting. 

“It means a lot that you came.”

James raised an eyebrow and chuckled as John’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

“That came out wrong,” John muttered. “Damnit. That isn’t what I meant!” 

James laughed, hearty and boisterous. “I figured it wasn’t.”

Smiling and shaking his head in embarrassment, John let out a soft giggle. He didn’t even hesitate when he inserted himself into James’ arms, snuggling tightly against him. He still smelled vaguely of peppermint tea. It’s a small John will always cherish and will always associate with James. Just like there are certain smells that he will always associate with Sherlock; dust, Chinese food, lavender and lemongrass. Even rain. God, his heart hurt. It made him wonder if it would ever stop hurting, or if he’d eventually just get used to the pain. Neither option sounded particularly appealing but he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Lost in his thoughts, he stayed cuddled up with James at the door until he was shaken out of his trance, startled back to reality by James untangling himself from John’s iron grip. 

“You’ll be just fine, John Watson. There’s a reason Sherlock needed you.”

John scoffed.

“Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye, James.”

Silently, John watched as James walked away from him for the last time, without looking back, and a single tear made its way down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away. He closed the door and went into the kitchen to tidy up after their spontaneous sex. John’s face broken into a wide grin, thinking about how incredible it had been. Even if it ended up being a goodbye of sorts. 

And now John was truly alone. 

Yes, technically he still had Lestrade, Mycroft, Stamford, and Mrs. Hudson. But it wasn’t the same. There were no deeper feelings than friendship and mutual respect. Well… not so much with Mycroft, but it was as mutually respectful as it could be with him, which is more than most of England could say. The problem was that John had never been good at being alone. That’s just one small reason it had been so difficult when Sherlock had died. Sherlock saved him. He gave him life -- something he didn’t have since the military, and then it was ripped from him all over again. 

John furrowed his brow and grabbed his jacket from the hook and left his flat, locking the door behind him, and marched out of the building. He needed a plan, he needed something to set his sights on and he knew just what it was. It was probably a short term solution but it’d do for now. With conviction he set off down the street and towards the clinic he’d be starting at next week.

He strode into the office and was greeted by a petite woman with shoulder length blonde hair, sitting at a nurse’s desk. She was quite pretty -- not really his type, but she looked kind enough. 

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Yeah, uh, I’m Dr. Watson. I’m not supposed to start for a week but I thought I would come early and see if my help was needed,” John smiled, laying on the charm. 

“Just out of the goodness of your heart, hmm, John?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I told you my first name, uh… Mary, is it?”

“I read the news. I pay attention. I’m aware of the life you led with Mr. Holmes,” she replied, a hint of disgust in her voice. 

The corner of John’s mouth twitched upwards. 

“It was a pretty damn good life,” he volleyed back. 

“If you say so, Mr. Watson,” she smirked.

“That’s Dr. Watson, thank you. You can tell Cam I no longer require this job,” John snapped, adding a very scary, intimidating smile. It conveyed nothing but rage, and an intense loathing of this woman. 

That abominable woman laughed. She actually laughed and it made the blood in his veins boil with pure hatred. John pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. He let out a deep breath and walked out of the clinic, head held high. He grinned when he realized it had started to rain. Some of his favourite times with Sherlock had been in the rain. 

He pulled his mobile out of his trouser pocket and started to dial. When he noticed a trim, tall man with an umbrella, he stopped dialing. 

Mycroft. Jesus, how was he always around? 

“I was just about to ring you!” 

“Oh?” Mycroft smiled. 

“Yeah,” John answered. “I need a job.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Dr. Watson, I already got you one.”

“I quit,” he shrugged.

“You haven’t even started yet!”

“I want a job with you, Mycroft. I don’t want to work at this bloody clinic, or any other clinic. I want -- no, I need to continue doing the kind of work Sherlock and I were doing. And I need to destroy Moriarty’s web.”

“Sherlock wouldn’t want you to work with me, or the government,” Mcyroft laughed.

“Then team me up with Lestrade. Just do something.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with, Dr. Watson.”

“Thank you,” John nodded. 

Mycroft tipped his head towards John and twirled his umbrella as he walked to the black car that was waiting for him. 

Smiling from ear to ear, John tilted his head back, the rain falling on his face. He chuckled a little bit -- passersby probably thought he was off his bloody rocker. John closed his eyes and breathed in the glorious scent of fresh rain. He could almost smell Sherlock there with him. John stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked down the street. There was no where in particular he was going. 

All he was doing was living. 

 

*****

Sherlock watched John stand in the rain from behind the tinted glass of the car he sat in, opposite of Mycroft. A smile of longing and sadness crossed his face. It was a relief to see John doing better, even though he couldn’t be with him right now. Hell, it was more than that. For just a few moments, it was like he no longer carried the weight of the world on his shoulders -- he could breathe again. 

“He looks good today.”

“Indeed. Quite the departure from the last time,” Mycroft replied. “It seems he’s finally figured out what he needs to do.”

“Oh? I thought he was going to be put up against Morstan.”

“Plans change, brother mine. No, he’s expressed interest in helping take down Moriarty’s web of criminals.”

“What?!” Sherlock exclaimed. “No. Myc, no! Tell me you didn’t agree.”

“Do shut up, Sherlock. I have watched you two idiots dance around your feelings for too long and now I have to watch you two pine for each other? No. You two are going to be reunited much sooner than anticipated.”

Sherlock glared and pouted, his lips turning into a frown. He stared out the window at John who was almost out of sight now as he walked in the rain. A big part of him really wanted to be mad at Mycroft, and he was. But he was also secretly very excited. It had been torture having to see John drink himself to death, seeing him in so much pain and not being there to make it better. 

Sherlock smiled. He’d be reunited with John soon.


End file.
